


first and last of the day

by zauberer_sirin



Series: makeouts are mandatory [11]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Director Daisy Johnson, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 01:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10843956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: For the Makeouts are Mandatory meme. Prompt: "domestic"





	first and last of the day

They really like it in the morning (Coulson likes the way “it” rolls off Daisy’s tongue, playful and out of fashion, like someone’s failed attempt at being sexy in a 90s comedy) but he likes sleeping late and Daisy won’t change her routine (after spending most of her life not knowing where or how she’d be the next day the whole waking up at 6 to train and have a moment to herself somewhere safe and familiar is still a blessing), so the first is when she comes back and is body knew she wasn’t by his side for a while even in its sleep, and sometimes it’s still the sweaty shining skin, and sometimes it’s the wet hair smelling of shampoo and then a second shower (or sometimes it’s a vague smell of sex under her Director’s clothes that will follow her for hours, making her feel sleazy and proud). Sometimes Coulson tastes like stumbling out of bed in the darkness and mint toothpaste with his eyes closed, and sometimes not even that and Daisy says “love is gross” and Coulson is about to apologize for that but the way she says that word when she’s with him and the way she laughs into his mouth make him catch his breath, how she always leaves him speechless, even this early in the morning.

They don’t like the scars-and-bruises inventory of “we’re alive” after a bad day, but there’s something comforting in holding each other’s limbs and pulling each other’s clothes gently, the healing late night showers with the water scalding hot as that is enough to erase bad memories, the not touching until they are both lying on clean, cold sheets. Not every night is the “we almost didn’t make it” kind of night, the push and pull between ghost kisses on new wounds and holding the other so tight, kisses that are all teeth and reassurance. Most nights is the ordinary, mediocre exhaustion of bureaucracy, of Daisy pushing a stone up a hill every day only to have it roll down every night (she says it like this, but only in front of him, and Coulson likes listening to her story of reading Camus at fifteen and her theory of how “all the existentialists were probably Inhuman anyway” with a pride on her people she restrains from showing in official meetings, because those in power always mistake “pride” and “threat”). Of course there are nights drunk with the joy of small or big victories, of friends that are like family, of a home, of a good meal, a date, a moment of calm, a chat about the future, of nothing at all, nothing but the quiet and scary realization of happiness, of something Daisy never thought she deserved, and something Coulson never thought he needed. That’s why the last of the day changes so much from night to night: sometimes wet and breathless, not so much a kiss but letting each other’s mouth fall together after orgasm, and sometimes it’s after they turn off the light and Coulson takes off his prosthetic (sometimes it’s her who does it, sometimes thankfully casual and familiar and sometimes a reverential rite) and Daisy runs her nails across his already-there stubble, and sometimes it’s softer and later, after a nightmare, the nightmare swapping its owner, the gesture always cool lips on a hot forehead, their named whispered in familiar darkness, and afterwards sometimes a proper kiss, fevered hands under t-shirts, and sometimes more sleep, curled limbs or space to breathe, it depends, then after a while it always comes back, the happiness, the scary promise of more firsts and lasts.


End file.
